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 St. Lunatics Jang A Lang Lyrics(feat. Trina) [(Chorus - Nelly) 2x] If you like big thangs, put your hands high as you can Get your shit man, make no difference from where you came, uh I ain't ballin out here, no, I ain't playin no games I got a new name for niggas with chains, jang a lang [Trina] Make way for the new breed bitch of this millennium Stack chips, keeps the pistol grip why? 'Cause I'm offendin 'em Rocks nothin but Cavada shit, I'm the baddest The ice from head to toe, with that plaid shit Mo' potent than I cut cocaine, through your vein Off the hook, take a look, I'm the chick, I can't be tamed One name like the highest breed, papi capéche? One drove home from Italy, is y'all feelin me? Be a mistress to none, but all good to some Let me break you off a little, show you how it's done Eyes trip for this goddess, gambino got your funds And some fish are coppin flights for me to Reno I see no other way for me to tell you how I feel You wanna stick and move now you're fuckin with the real deal Hold still, let this lady let loose Keep them chips comin nigga or your neck'll catch a nuece [Chorus] [Murphy Lee] Now y'all know me, I like an old school Ozzie Smith jersey Old school Jordans, head band that says "Murphy" Stone washed, baggy as hell, double XL, with the sleeve off On my way to drop a few G's off Ease off, doin thirty-five, smokin fire, makin a right I'm doin thirty now, riskin my life Both clients on my cell phone, typin on my two-way Rollin a blunt, still drivin, lookin at movies Young Dude be floatin the city like cab drivers Professional but still keep it real like Allen Iverson I'm liver than Jay, Dave and Kathy and Regis Been on more MTV shows than Butthead and Beavis Keep a stash with the gas money, fast money, me and Slo Down, huh We almost had to buy up the town It's like a movie, oohhweee, doobies in a jacuzzi Girls do what I say so I just tell 'em to do me [Chorus] [Keyjuan] Ay, you know where my chains comes from, I spits fire You know what them girls look at dirty, my big tires My attire forty-two large denim, I sag in 'em Dress eyes and ride hot rides and Jags in 'em Let him talk his jazz, what's the tag gon' get 'em? While I hit him in clutch time, roll up his dutch time "No more herb", no such line, "uh oh" is my punch line I'm hungry like a hobo standin in lunch lines Crossed the gun line, boss, like Ray and Claud I know niggas that make they money then pay they broads I'm from the Lou, kinda new, I'm a make my laws When I pull up on the show lot, it be, it's like pause (Ay, where yo' Range at?) It's outside you wanna clean it? (Ay, where yo' name at?) It's in The Source, you ain't seen it? (Ay, where yo' chains at?) You can't tell dirty, I'm sparklin? Split it, fill it up, wrap it and spark it [Chorus] [thanks to countrysux2000@yahoo.com for correcting these lyrics] Send "Jang A Lang" Ringtone to your Mobile
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